


Off the Leash

by hjbaltimore



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Brainwashing, Civil War (Marvel), Diary/Journal, Drug Use, Falling In Love, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Psychological Torture, Recovered Memories, Sleep Deprivation, Torture, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6608752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjbaltimore/pseuds/hjbaltimore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Rogers has been invading my thoughts. I see him everywhere in this damn city. Certain smells, certain foods, streets, buildings, even some textures. They’re all linked with his face. I don’t know what to do. But I can’t get him out of my head. I can’t get these past missions out of my head. I need direction. I need orders. I need distraction.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The time between the disaster in D.C. and being trapped in vice is a road paved with sappy journal entries, sleepless nights, and backpack clips. Based off that Sebastian Stan post. You know which one. </p><p>Written half in third person, half in first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year 1

**Author's Note:**

> third person narrative, first person journal entries, 100% angst. You got like, 7 to 15 day till this all gets jossed _read it while you can_
> 
> UPDATE: hot damn I am **good**. This thing almost perfectly fits with Civil War. Consider this fic canon compliant, son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry did't want to clutter the tags up but it's kind of a slow burn fic, except steve and friends don't really show up till the last chapter its really just Bucky slowly remembering how hot Steve is sandwiched between lots of angst

 

 

It was amazing what you could find in the garbage. Everything from near-pristine produce to clothes with the tags still on them. Money, phones, watches, books-- at the right times in the right places, Bucky could get most of what he needed without having to steal anything. Because even petty thefts need to be rationed out-- not so much from lack of faith in his own skills, but the all too omnipresent surveillance burning holes in the back of his neck. The less time he could spend around security saturated locations, the less chance some eagle-eyed dipshit could spot him.

 He pockets the cash and tosses most everything else, sometimes grabbing clothes if they look big enough. But he pauses on a pile of blank journals, bound in faux leather and wrapped in plastic, covered in bright red “reduced price” stickers. They’re hidden under a heap of gently damaged novelty mugs and three copies of “The Encyclopedia of Chesapeake Region Ornithology: Large Print Edition”.

  _Fucking capitalists and their cheap junk_ , he thinks, somewhere way in the back of his head. _So wasteful. Who needs any of this?_

 Bucky picks up his tidy little pile and shoves it into a backpack he scavenged earlier that week. There was still plenty of room, and an ugly little idea struck him. He dug a few of them out and ripped off the plastic. Bucky snorted, at himself more than anything, but the idea was stuck there in his head and if there was anything he’d learned over the past couple weeks, it was the harder he tried to ignore this sort of feeling, the stronger it got. He’s seen people, trying to quit tobacco cold turkey, struggle in the same way. He dropped the notebooks in, and took off.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

> Today is May 6, 2014. It has been two weeks since the incident. No orders, no recovery team.
> 
>  
> 
> So far no tails have been spotted. Sleep is becoming increasingly difficult. Caloric intake varies from day to day.
> 
>  
> 
> The vault that served as a temporary base during the mission has been completely abandoned. The last two scientists from _that_ day cleaned out everything of value, including intel. Letting them go may have been a mistake.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

Car theft was deemed the the safest way out of the city. Walking left him exposed, and you could only get so far before running out of pedestrian walk space.  Busses, planes, trains-- they all had too much security. Too many people with cameras, and no way to screen them. He took cheap, unassuming cars, driving them a few miles before abandonment, going further in city even, at one point. He collected the plates from each, finally ending with a new car from some glittering dealership with no markers at all. Bucky crossed the city border within the hour.

He was surprised at that, actually. The radio kept referring to the area as “Baltimore-Washington”, and Bucky had kind of assumed both cities had grown so large that they’d simply merged together. Weirder things have happened. Probably. It’s not like he’d remember.

But here he was, surrounded by lush green farmland spaced out by thick strips of trees. Not a tall building or panicked civilian in sight. Bucky eased his grip on the steering wheel.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

 

 

 

> It is May 13, 2014.
> 
> Food supply has become more stable but overall too low to maintain current muscle mass. Approximately six pounds have been lost.
> 
> Dreams have become more vivid. Most make little sense, or have no basis in reality. Others seem to recall past missions. They now happen every night.
> 
> This city has plenty of abandoned structures to use as shelter. Not much effort is needed to procure an isolated space, but between proximity to the capital, tourism, and high police presence, this cannot be a stopping point for too long.
> 
> Nothing feels familiar, here.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

Bucky abandoned the car in a parking garage that overlooked the harbor. The water was murky, but at least it didn’t smell like Hudson did. He frowned, not quite sure where that thought came from.

 He walked towards the outskirt of the city until he found what he was looking for-- a criminally neglected looking train station where men loaded crates into battered looking cargo compartments. It was almost too easy to hop aboard unnoticed.

 

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

>  May 27, 2014
> 
> There was a woman. Blond. Pale. Average height and weight. Completely forgettable. She appeared in my dream last night, begging for her life. She could have belonged to any mission. I shot her in face. She and the others making sleep very difficult.
> 
>  
> 
> May, 2014
> 
>  More faces. More screams. Always the same. Always death.
> 
>   
>  May, 2014
> 
>  Sleep is too inconvenient to continue.
> 
>  
> 
> 2014 
> 
>  Sleep came anyway. Two men this time. They were too far away to beg, but they must have known death was coming all the same.

 

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

Bucky looked down at all the the bottles spilling over the bed sheets. Dexedrine, Ritalin, something unlabeled he swiped from a truck driver, a bag of coke he got off some shithead in a back ally…

 He yawned and took a handful of 5mg Adderall pills and swallowed them dry. Better to experiment low and work his way up if need be. After an hour or so he didn’t feel too much less tired, but he didn’t fall asleep either, and that was all he really needed anyway.

 Bucky had jumped trains halfway across the country, finally stopping in Kansas. He wasn’t sure if anyone was actually looking for him, or whether that might change in the future. He wandered around before slowing down in front of the nearest federal building he could find. It was a post office, shiny and new looking. Couldn’t be more than a few years since it was built, with obvious, fancy cameras near the entrance to remind people they shouldn’t steal things. Bucky let the sleeve of his jacket fall just a couple inches off his shoulder, and angled his head so at least part of it could be seen by the camera. Nobody who wasn’t looking very, very hard would notice when he readjusted his collar, and walked away.

Getting back to east coast took longer than getting away, but he had practical reasons for coming to New York, even if the knot in his gut said otherwise. He needed intel, and way out of the country. Bucky knew that Rogers and his team spent most of their time here, but that plus the dense population and seemingly daily outbreaks of people spontaneously developing their _own_ powers would only make things easier. More than enough weirdos running around to distract people from one guy wearing a sweatshirt in the summer heat.

 He paid for a room in a hotel that was breaking nearly 200 building codes just in the lobby alone. But they took cash, and the man at the counter barely looked up from his phone. Bucky had snatched some guy’s ID. The man in the photo looked similar enough at first glance, and nobody had scrutinized it so far. He paid for two weeks, and hoped he wouldn’t have to use all fourteen days.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

>  
> 
> June 29, 2014 
> 
>  A sleep regimen of twenty minutes every 4 hours coupled with approximately 100mg of amphetamines per day has proven the most effective way to stave off dreaming while maintaining alertness. It’s not ideal, but this is not the first time. There was a period of time where my handlers trained me to sleep in short spurts, about 20 minutes every every six hours. It’s difficult getting back to that. It might be the drugs. Or maybe a lack of drugs. I don’t know I dont know I dontknow
> 
>  
> 
> June 30, 2014
> 
>  -apple pie
> 
> -canvass
> 
> -cough syrup
> 
> -Stillwell Avenue
> 
> -oatmeal
> 
> -peppermint
> 
> -Prospect Park
> 
> -paint
> 
> ~~-the fucking air~~
> 
> ~~-the water too~~
> 
> -antiseptic
> 
> -hair products
> 
> -the entire subway system
> 
>  
> 
> July 2, 2014 
> 
> Rogers has been invading my thoughts. I see him everywhere in this damn city. Certain smells, certain foods, streets, buildings, even some textures. They’re all linked with his face. I don’t know what to do. But I can’t get him out of my head. I can’t get these past missions out of my head. I need direction. I need orders. I need distraction.
> 
>  
> 
> July 5, 2014 
> 
> There was something about yesterday. It was a national American holiday, but it was more than that. I couldn’t even leave the room. My head felt like it was going to split in two. The fireworks at night didn’t help either. With the amount of crime in this city, it doesn't make any sense that the government would allow useless, controlled explosions when they could mask the sound of gunshots and bombs.
> 
>  I remembered something. I can’t place the date. It was in a compound. ~~I was being held dow~~ The men outside the cell were celebrating, drinking wine alcohol and playing with party poppers. I don’t remember having my left arm for some reason. It may have been before I was given it. There was a newsreel playing, but all I can see now is a blurred projection. They were celebrating something. I don’t think it was the holiday, though. No, it wasn’t really a celebration. They were laughing at the film and telling me something. Maybe I wanted to celebrate, but couldn’t?
> 
>  
> 
> I can’t
> 
>  
> 
> This is too frustrating.
> 
>  
> 
> August 28, 2014 
> 
>  I remember falling from a train in the snow. Rogers was there.
> 
>  I remember _remembering_ him before. I feel as though he is always on the edge of my thoughts. Its is extremely irritating.
> 
>  
> 
> October 31, 2014
> 
> I had some sort of urge to eat as much sugar today as my stomach could handle. The grocer didn’t really have any American candy like I’d hoped, but I found plenty of sweet breads and pastries and cakes. I don’t recall ever having visited Moldova before, let alone having eaten any of the food. But there is a Hydra base here that I _know_ I’ve been to. The locals said it’s been empty since a little before the revolution, though.
> 
> I didn’t know what revolution they were talking about, not that I said as much. From what I’ve pieced together it seems like the Soviets backed off several territories and pretended to disappear. Maybe that’s how I ended up in the custody of Hydra. Or maybe they were there from the beginning. I guess I wouldn't really know.
> 
>  
> 
> November 5, 2014 
> 
> Looking for answers would only invite trouble. It’s the reason I left the states in the first place. Going into anyone’s custody is not an option anymore. But even without the dreams I seem to remember more and more of my past everyday. Only the memories are incomplete and I know there must be someone or something out there with the information I need. I can’t function like this, being distracted by every errant thought.
> 
>  At the very least Rogers must know that I am alive. Even if he doesn’t want others to know, it's only a matter of time until someone else finds out, if he comes looking for me. I don’t know what to do. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be prepared for anything.
> 
>  

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

It was unseasonably warm, but Bucky still had to suppress a shiver as a gust of wind cut through his coat. Still, he was thankful for the climate, despite how much he despised the cold. Neither long sleeves nor gloves were out of place in late-autumn Kiev, and the collar was high and thick and covered the lower half of his face. It was the safest he’d felt in months.

He took the metro up north, feet working on autopilot, leaving his mind blissfully blank as he stepped off the train and navigated the streets of Lukyanivka.

 The building was an older one, and frankly needed a much better security system. He tore the lock off with little effort and pushed his way in. Warm fluorescent lights bounced off the tacky pink walls in the narrow hallway, and despite the strong musty smell, Bucky thought it was kind of cozy. He took the steps to the upper floors, not quite trusting the elevator and who might get in with him, and stopped at apartment six-hundred and sixteen.

 He made a move to kick the door in and thought the better of it last second. He politely yet firmly knocked on the door instead.

 Some guy, late thirties at best, yanked open the door after half a minute, without hesitation. Whether it was lack of self preservation or he was expecting someone else, Bucky didn't know. But the sickly, chalk-white color the man developed when he saw the Winter Soldier standing in his doorway was clear indication that Bucky had found the right person, and that they really ought to be more diligent.

 “Where's the file?”

 He opened his mouth wordlessly, chest flailing to try and get more air.

 “Where's the file, Sokolov?”

 “I…”

 Bucky pushed the man inside and shut the door behind them. He pulled off his coat, trying to at least look less threatening. Bucky didn't want to have to kill or maim this guy.

 But Bucky needed that file. His original file, with notes from Karpov and Zola and the Fenoff. His creation. There was almost nothing on him in the data dump from D.C. What little there was, Bucky had to read between the lines for. None of his names were explicitly stated, and the only direct reference was one small, blurry photo, attached to volumes worth of information on the Stark family. If, and that was a big if, the intel he got from bashing heads over the past few weeks was accurate, then everything on him was on local servers and hard copies. God only knows what else they were hiding that way, too dirty for the regular networks.

 “It’s not here. Please don’t kill me. I’m not Hydra or Red Room, please I’m really sorry please _please--”_

 Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I know you’re not. Who did you sell it to?”

 The guy turned another shade whiter, visibly weighing the options of letting his mouth run.

 “You clearly read the file, so you know what I’m capable of, and I _really_ don’t have much to lose. And if you lie to me, I will know, and I will come back for you.”

 “I-It… a man named Ivan Pet--”

 “You know what? Why don’t you bring me to him.”

 

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

>  
> 
> December 5, 2014 
> 
> The file is gone. A middleman gave it to a Black Widow. I couldn’t get it out of him which one. He wasn’t worth killing. Whichever one it was, she clearly has the man’s total loyalty, and I am at a dead end.
> 
>  
> 
> December 23, 2014
> 
> i’ve run out of drugs


	2. Year 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter flip flops between angst and fluff so much ya gonna get whiplash, fair warning

> January 1, 2015 
> 
> I know it is a new year because people won’t shut up about it. The celebrations have been going on for well over 12 hours now. My body is begging for sleep, but I don’t think I could even if I wanted to, what with all the noise.
> 
>  
> 
> January 3, 2015
> 
> My body collapsed despite the naps every few hours. According to the clock I was out for ten hours. I’m fairly certain I only slept, but this was still
> 
> I can’t trust that I did nothing else. That nothing else happened to me.
> 
> I will have to endure a regular sleep schedule and the dreams that follow until I find some new way to combat it.
> 
>  
> 
> January 19, 2015 
> 
> I had a family once. I’ve thought about it before to be honest, but it just recently hit me what that means. The dream last had, I think, my family. There was a girl, my sister maybe. A mother whose face I can’t recall at all. My dad wasn’t there, but he was definitely somewhere. I could feel it.
> 
>  
> 
> February 13, 2015 
> 
> Sleep is even more difficult. Their faces, their screams, it doesn’t matter whether they’re enemies of allies. They all haunt me.
> 
> There was man who pulled the skin off his face and threw it into Hell. Rogers was there too, and I thought he was going to do the same? But instead he just
> 
> He got me out. He was bright and beautiful as an angel. I was in hell and he saved me.
> 
> how many times have I died
> 
>  
> 
> March 10 
> 
> There is something about today. I can’t remember what it is but
> 
> I’m angry?
> 
> Something about this day is important and don’t know _what_
> 
> I tried sleeping, hoping an answer would come. I dreamt of my early days, training. My trainers off to the side taking notes and watching. My right index finger started to bleed from the friction of the trigger. I tried to switch to my left and was shocked with a cattle prod. It was a semi-automatic and I think I must have gone through a thousand reloads practicing on targets. I only remember being afraid of more punishment but all I want to do now is go back in time and snap their necks
> 
>  
> 
> March 11, 2015 
> 
> they saved me how could want to hurt any of them i would have died in the snow they game me a new arm they trained and fed me and gave me purpose again i wouldnt be here now without Hydra and the Red Room i failed my mission twice nd ra n away im aa defctive disobediant filth
> 
>  
> 
> March 18, 2015 
> 
> More drugs have been acquired. It is a large cache but they will be burned through quickly. Medicinal amphetamines are the best option; much easier to acquire and less risk of addiction. The serum should prevent most chemical dependencies, but without handlers to consult precautions will need to be taken. Focusing on finding other files should be less complicated now.
> 
>  
> 
> April 21, 2015 
> 
> There are more memories of my family. Still no recollection of my father, but the feelings are… mixed, about him. There are much more positive memories concerning my sister and mother.
> 
> They both had chocolate-brown hair and freckles. My mother had blue eyes, my sister had brown. I think my mother taught me how to cook. I wish I could remember their names.
> 
>  
> 
> April 30, 2015 
> 
> I have concluded that I miss my sister very, very much, and I am angry that we were separated. I wish that, after saving me, they could have let me see her and my parents. Maybe they didn’t know I had family.
> 
> Perhaps I could not be trusted.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧  


He found himself in England, a place he’d breezed through months earlier on the way to eastern Europe. Germany had been a bust: there was Hydra faction strong and organized guarding anything that might have interested him, and even the idea of getting caught made Bucky feel both terrified and ashamed. But here the base was empty, and not because Hydra just up and left.

“The Avengers were here not two days ago,” said the woman at the counter as he bought the strongest coffee drink available. “Can you imagine? Hydra, right here in Soho! Nearly a hundred people were arrested. We’d just finished renovations from the invasion Thor fought off a couple years ago, too. We’re becoming the new New York, I swear.”

Bucky nodded his head in sympathy while simultaneously trying to end the one-sided conversation and slip away. But it was early morning and the rush before work hadn’t begun yet, so it was just him and her.

“Oh there's a new Avenger too, did you know? Very cute guy. I think he flies. Haven’t seen him with the team a lot in the news though. Been spendin’ a lot time on this side of the world even though he’s American,” she jammed her thumb to the west wall of the building as though to indicate where the man was. Then, she leaned in for a whisper, like they weren’t the only two in the whole shop.

“I heard he’s lookin’ for more super people to add to the team, yeah?”

“That is definitely a theory,” Bucky monotoned, mimicking her accent.

Bucky chugged the last of his drink, excusing himself to the bathroom, and promptly wriggling out the window to take off down the alleyway. He stomped out a tiny shred of guilt in his gut. She had, after all, given him surprisingly useful information. He hadn’t been keeping up with the news as much as he ought to have been. Computers and phones, especially ones with cameras and microphones were too dangerous, and newspapers were a little harder to come by these days. That left television, which Bucky had only sporadic access to.

He wandered around for a while before risking another small cafe, one with peeling paint and a neon “OPEN” sign where only the “n” was still lit up. Most importantly, it wasn’t on a major road and definitely had no cameras that Bucky could see. But there was a TV tuned to the news, so he sat down and got six orders of fish and chips and three beers. The servers stared and laughed a little as he knocked it all back with ease, but he’d be out of the city by the end of the day. Not too much danger if they blabbed to the wrong person.

They were replaying footage of the Avengers quite literally punching through walls and extracting Hydra personnel, who scattered like cockroaches as soon as the Hulk grabbed the guy seemingly in charge with his meaty, green fist.

Despite the victory, they all walked out looking dejected, and declined to answer more than a few reporter’s questions. The Captain-- Rogers-- hung off to the side and didn’t talk at all. Bucky’s heart ached at that dejected expression.

  
✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

> May 1, 2015 
> 
> I must have spent a lot of time in England at some point. I've been getting little flickers of Rogers and myself, and a woman too. Geez, she was bombshell. Rogers was always hanging all over her.
> 
> I can't decide how I must of felt about her. Keep getting gut feelings of jealousy and arousal. And pride?
> 
> did I used to be some kind of idiot
> 
>  
> 
> May 4, 2015 
> 
> The west seems to have an almost cult-like obsession with something called “Star Wars”. I don’t think it is a religion, but whatever it is, today seems to be the most prominent holiday for its followers. I have received at least three greetings today along the lines “May the fourth be with you”, followed by a chuckle. Westerners are confusing.
> 
>  
> 
> May 7, 2015 
> 
> It has occurred to me that _I_ am a westerner. I remember Rogers and I as children in New York. Hydra often referred to me as “The American”. Or at least said I was very good at impersonating one.
> 
>  
> 
> May 13, 2015 
> 
> I’ve started to run out of drugs again. They’ll have to be rationed until I get more. I’m just going to have to chance long periods of sleep. Sleeping for twenty minutes at a time and then waking up and falling back asleep seems to mess with my cognition more than I care to admit.
> 
>  
> 
> May 18, 2015
> 
> Steve
> 
> Steve Steve STeve STEVE SteVe steve steve S t e v e
> 
> hes all i think about nowadays
> 
>  
> 
> May 22, 2015 
> 
> Nightmares have actually been rare lately. Instead they’ve been of my family, and Steve. They’re hard to remember in detail, but one was my parents and sister at Thanksgiving. The day after that, a warm summer day at Coney Island. I swam in the ocean, and it felt amazing. I remember the taste of ice cream, and pizza. My mouth is watering just recalling the dream. The rest all felt like jumbled pieces my brain is trying to sort out. They’re just fragments, hard to place.
> 
> Oh, but the best dream so far
> 
> I don’t know if it was a memory not, Steve was undressed and held me in an embrace. He kissed me, starting on my forhead and working his way down util he reached my mout h
> 
> then a car backfired and I woke up
> 
>  
> 
> May 31, 2015 
> 
> I am being followed. I need to get out of the country soon. I’ve lingered too long here. When I close my eyes, I can easily imagine Steve and it almost felt like home. He is endangering me, even a hundred thousand miles away.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

He’d somehow managed to get to Argentina without getting caught, which was a minor victory in and of itself. But what he was really, truly proud of, was the thumb drive rattling around amongst the pens and notebooks in his backpack. The entire base was being run on a skeleton crew. In and out without triggering a single alarm.

It was late and for once, Bucky was looking forward to sleeping. He would have to wait until daytime to find a safe computer to use anyway, so he curled up on top his sleeping bag without even taking off his shoes. It was near total silence in the building, and ugly cheap looking thing with peeling lead paint on the outside and bright yellow signs ominously declaring “NO ENTRAR” and “PELIGO” to would be squatters. Bucky figured any lingering lead dust or asbestos couldn’t really damage him more than he already was, and cleared out a few yards worth of space to serve as a temporary base.

It was warm and sunny and he and Steve were sitting on some unremarkable park bench. The seat was sun baked and hot, but they we’re drenched with cool water, shivering a little the summer heat. Steve was only sitting there not doing much of anything but letting his mussed up hair drip dry. Bucky caught himself just staring and smiling at him.

Somehow that transitioned to sharing a cone of plain chocolate in dry street clothes. Bucky didn’t have to question dream logistics as Steve got up on tip toes to lick a fleck of ice cream off his cheek. That turned into a sweet little kiss, and another, then a less-than-sweet kiss, until Steve was fucking his mouth with his tongue and they both were flushed together in--

Bucky bolted up from the backpack he’d been using as a pillow, flicking the safety off and aiming his appropriated 10mm semi-automatic all in one smooth movement. His eyes adjusted to the light in time to see an oblivious and thoroughly unimpressed mouse hop of his leg and scurry away. Bucky groaned and flopped back down. He’d already forgotten the dream in a blind panic. He slammed his fist down on the floor, knocking loose a chunk of plaster which fell off somewhere behind him.

His pants were hot and tight. Bucky could feel blood rushing to his crotch and for all that he’d forgotten in the span of two seconds, what lingered was the taste of that kiss on his lips. He rolled his eyes at himself and sighed. He used to be able to just ignore this sort of thing, however rarely it happened. But lately he’d been jerking off nearly every day and it felt so damn _good._ Not muted and rote from an adrenalin high after a mission. His handlers used to scoff whenever that used to happened, before taking various fluid samples to the lab for testing, then adjusting the dosage of some drug to be pumped back into him before cryo. It never even felt good like that, under the clinic eyes of some bored scientist or guard who would mutter “I’m not paid enough for this ” under his breath.

Bucky unbuttoned his pants and slipped them down just past his hips. Even the lightest tough set off a ridiculous moan and god was he glad he was here alone. He made a fist around his cock, using little drops of pre cum to slick it up as he pumped away. He imagined Steve, naked and making filthy noises as he wrapped his lips around and teased his way down, slowly, to the root. He’d bury his nose in Bucky’s crotch and breath in his scent and tell Bucky how beautiful he thought he was. The scars, the burn marks, the arm, his long messy hair; Steve didn’t care about any of it. He’d bob his head up and down and hum happily as he listened to Bucky’s whimpers.

He’d grab handfuls of Bucky’s ass and trace the muscles down his thighs, holding onto his dearest friend tight because he wouldn’t ever want to let him go again. He’d have to start humping Bucky’s leg because fuck, he can’t just let go. He’s gotta touch Bucky all over, as much skin on skin as he can, his own dick be damned. And Bucky, god, he would pet Steve’s beautiful blond hair and beg for more. Harder, faster. Bucky would plead for more tender kisses and Steve would just tease him slower, promising Bucky anything he wanted. But he had had to make it good for Bucky first. The best he’s ever felt, he’ll make it so good, Buck. I’ve missed you so much.

Bucky let out a soft gasp and came all over his fist.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

> June 14, 2015 
> 
> I’ve read and reread the documents on the drive several times now. At least a third of my acquisition is corrupted from someone trying to sloppily overwrite the data, but most of it is salvageable. My origins are only really mentioned in passing, but it seems like my superiors were aware I had a family. This was disappointing to learn ~~to say the least~~ ~~.~~ The records of what I managed to get start in 1973 and keep referring to some incident they don’t fully describe. It seems to be more about what happened after. ~~They I~~
> 
> There seems to have been a very intense interrogation following ~~my escape~~ the incident. They started wiping my memories with
> 
> a kind of heavily modified ECT machine based on what it says
> 
> That explains a lot. ~~Too much~~ ~~.~~  I guess that is what the chair was, just upgraded. ~~I never did understand why I feared the thing so much~~ ~~but~~ ~~I didn’t~~ ~~I~~ ~~couldn’t~~
> 
>  
> 
> July  6, 2015 
> 
> Was it all torture? Discipline? Or just the only way to control me?
> 
>  
> 
> Still July 6, 2015 
> 
> Why would they save me just to torture me? I must have just been disobedient.
> 
>  
> 
> July 7, 2015 
> 
> I don’t think I was ever loyal to them. Is it still discipline if I was simply a prisoner?
> 
>  
> 
> July 8, 2015 
> 
> I’ve been reading up on myself. I was, apparently, somewhat famous at one point. There were pictures and letters and interviews with my family. They looked just how I remember them. I fought against Hydra. Why did I join something I fought so hard against? I had to have willingly joined at some point if they didn’t start wiping my memories until ‘73.
> 
>  
> 
> July 9, 2015 
> 
> does Steve know I’m a traitor how could he still call me his friend as I tried to kill him jesus...
> 
>  
> 
> July 10, 2015 
> 
> I _hope_ I was never willingly loyal to them
> 
>  
> 
> July 11, 2015 
> 
> they saved me I was bleeding to death in the snow they saved me they saved me they saved me no one else ever came they gave me purpose no one ever came back for me i was left to die
> 
>  
> 
> 2015 
> 
> I’m sorry Steve. I love you.
> 
>  
> 
> September 19, 2015 
> 
> All that anyone has been talking about for over a month now is Sokovia. I’ve never even heard of the damn place before. But what else is new. There’s robots and floating cities and Steve where I can’t help him. I don’t know what I know or what’s real. Nothing has felt real in a long, long time.
> 
> I dumped the drugs. If the nightmares start up again, I deserve them.
> 
>  
> 
> December 30 
> 
> Maybe this is why I was wiped so often. Memories make me weak.


	3. Year 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i promise a happy ending at the end of the angst rainbow

 

 

> February 12, 2016
> 
> This is the closest I’ve ever been to being caught. It was stupid, it was so stupid. I’ve been using an internet cafe, the same one for a month. I shouldn’t even be in the same country, let alone developing a routine and and going to the same public space, for that long. This never used to be so exhausting, running and hiding. All I ever had to do was follow exact orders. I could do anything.
> 
> They closed in on me there, at the cafe. It was just a guy who took one to many glances at me but I knew. As soon as I made a break for it there were ten of them after me. I don’t even know who they were. They got two good shots and now my right calf is shredded. With any luck, I won’t bleed out before I make it to Brazil.
> 
>  
> 
> February 15, 2016
> 
> Stupid, stupid. God.
> 
> Ever since Ultron and the file from the base it just kills me to not know what Steve is doing. It’s like I think of him and I feel human. I can look down at my body and it doesn’t feel like a tool or a weapon. I’m right here. Steve Rogers knows me, and I know him. I’m a person who has and still does, exist.
> 
> But for all that, my survival training takes a hit. I should be out in some backwater Eurasian village, living in the woods, growing a beard and hunting. Or finding a way to get the arm off and change my face. Or go to a city so large it’d be impossible to not blend in, like when I ran away to New York. They admitted in the file they only found me by chance. I can’t bring myself to do any of that. I need to know who I am, what was done to me. What was taken from me. If I keep this up, someone will close in on me before the year is out.
> 
> I can’t go back to that. I’ll kill myself first. But not before I take out anyone who tries to take this all away first. I don’t want to kill anymore, but it doesn’t mean I won’t if the situation calls for it.
> 
>  
> 
> February 17, 2016
> 
> It was in Chicago. I actually remember that really well now, weirdly enough. The mission, at least. A senator, face down in a hotel pool. It was going to look like an accidental drowning to most, but for those who knew, it sent the right message.
> 
> After that it feels a bit hazy. I went to New York. It was calling me home, I had to break off after the mission was done. I got to live like an actual person for a few weeks.
> 
>  
> 
> March 3, 2016
> 
> Back in the states, which is probably not my best idea. S.H.E.I.L.D has somehow survived everything. Restarted by non-Hydra agents. I think they’re trying to stay independent and hidden, but they aren’t doing a very good job. Every time someone develops weird powers and makes a scene about it, a whole squad of co-ed MIB show up to whisk them away. Not exactly subtle.
> 
> They either don’t know I still exist or don’t care, because all they got is a copy of my army file, and several carefully labeled pictures and scans of collectable novelty items of me and the other Howling Commandos. Especially Steve. It’s weird.
> 
> There are four Hydra factions I’ve identified here as well. Some a little more… stable than others. But I think my biggest problem is the actual government. Nothing's actually been made public, but most importantly, if the CIA and Interpol all know about the Winter Soldier program, there are only two ways that happened: either Hydra had their metaphorical tendrils embedded a lot deeper than I thought, or there were files on me leaked in the data dump, and someone is covering them up. I didn’t know that was even still possible. You can’t just delete information from the internet that’s
> 
> something isn’t right
> 
>  
> 
> March 17, 2016
> 
> Carter is dead. Jesus. Jesus Christ. I didn't even remember she existed, let alone think she was still alive.
> 
>  

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

In principle, Bucky had only come back to D.C. for Peggy’s funeral, to watch from a nice, safe distance. He convinced himself it was worth the risk, even though Peggy was dead and gone and wouldn't be able to give two shits about whether he showed up. But he'd only be kicking himself down the line of he didn't pay his respects to Steve's best girl. And, he had to admit, a good friend of his as well. Now that he could actually remember it.

 

Steve was one of the pallbearers and though he could probably carry the whole thing himself one handed, he looked ready to collapse under the weight. He wasn’t crying; he didn’t even look sad. Steve was unfocused and dead-eyed with a waxy pallor that looked ready to melt in the sunlight. If he didn’t know for a fact it was near impossible for Steve to sick, Bucky might have been seriously worried.

 

The procession looked like it was a fucking mile long, and Bucky knew better than to follow. He wondered if he should pray or something. He wouldn’t be able to visit the grave. Ever, probably. She and the Howlies were all in a special area of Arlington, next to his and Steve’s empty graves. But any faith he might’ve had at one point was burned out of him, literally sometimes, along with his morals and memories. Or maybe it happened before that. He settled for bowing his head and a moment of silence, before climbing back down from the roof he’d been perched on.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

>  
> 
> March 25, 2016
> 
> I missed my birthday. I guess that’s not saying much, since I’ve missed it the past 70- whatever years.
> 
> I went to the Captain America exhibit. They had a whole display dedicated to me, big old picture and everything. Not the most surreal experience I can remember having, but it's up there.
> 
> There was a section with some of Steve’s art. Jesus, that’s all he ever wanted as a kid. He always really liked the Impressionists, you know? Wanted to be up there right next to Monet. Never understood why. He couldn't even see half the colors, and that was like the whole point. ~~Then~~   ~~can’t believe I remember all this~~   ~~He had such a crush on Frida Kahlo I hope that’s somewhere on his wikipedia page.~~ ~~Anyway~~
> 
> But there was one sketch up there away from the rest. Nothing real special. I don’t remember the damn thing at all, but the plaque said Steve drew it and gave it to me for my birthday, my first one out when were enlisted. Just a picture of me and him, and it was all he could give me. It was real torn up though. But then Steve redrew it I guess, and donated it to the museum and it’s there on the wall hanging next to the original and underneath it said “To my best guy: I miss you more and more everyday, Bucky”
> 
> ~~I coudn’t even help myslef. I stole it I stole the damn thing right off the wall why dont they have better securyt why did I do that im holdin it right now what did i do~~
> 
>  
> 
> April 3, 2016
> 
> I need to get Lagos, but being so close to Steve is making it really hard to stay on the move. I know he’s been looking for me but who knows if that’s because he actually wants to be _around_ me. He mighta changed his mind and he hate my guts now. As much as I’d deserve it, frankly I’m too scared to find out either way. I’m not sure what would be more painful. I’m a selfish prick and if this is all I get, I wanna keep it.
> 
> I have to go. I’ll leave tomorrow. This feels too much like goodbye.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

For half a second, Bucky almost thought he might get away. Steve was doing his damnedest to catch up to cat-suit guy, but he was fast. Just barely faster than Steve and that advantage added up scarily fast. Because next thing he knew, cat guy latched onto the back tires of Bucky’s “borrowed” bike and sent them both rolling into the middle of the road.

There was a loud crash as one of the police SUVs went flying. Cat guy didn’t bother looking as he stood over Bucky and prepared for a pretty-fucking-lethal-looking strike. Bucky flinched even as he threw his arms up to strike back.

Only the hit never came. Steve tackled the guy at full speed. Bucky rolled over and stood up, too stunned and focused on Steve to start running again.

Bucky had a wild, trapped look in his eyes, his feet and hands twitching like he wanted to move but couldn't. Steve straightened himself out, still breathing hard through his nose. All things considered, they both were still in pretty good shape. They’d only traded a handful of words back in the highrise earlier, most of them Steve’s, while he helped Bucky escape the strike team. But since then Bucky had jumped off the eighth floor of said building, had a quick tussle on a roof with cat guy, got _shot at_ on the same roof, and crashed going 40 miles an hour onto hard pavement. It was a rough start to the day, to say the least.

Bucky wanted to wipe the sweat away from Steve’s forehead and kiss that look of pure rage away from his face. But Steve got to him first, and pulled him in for a tight, back breaking hug. Steve’s breath hitched, like he was trying his best to not start crying into Buck’s long, knotted hair.

Bucky leaned in a little, gripping at the back of Steve's suit. It all only last half a second. The cars that had been chasing behind the three of them finally caught up, and suddenly there were double the guns being pointed.

Bucky gave one last quick squeeze before dropping Steve like he’d touched a hot stove, and put a two feet of distance between them. Bucky rolled his shoulders, lip curling in a barely concealed snarl. Rhodes lifted his arm, and the unmistakable whine of the Iron Man repulsors charging up pierced his ears. It was disturbingly quiet otherwise.

“Stand down, now.”

Bucky lowered his head a little, not unlike the stance he had before attacking Steve on the catwalks in the helicarrier. The police were a hair’s width away from firing.

“Bucky, stop,” Steve whispered. It was so soft Bucky wasn’t totally sure he hadn’t just imagined it. He held his hand out, a half-assed gesture, probably hoping Bucky would get the message as he slowly and deliberately hooked the shield to his back harness. He shifted his gaze from Bucky to War Machine, setting his jaw and staring the other man down.

“Congratulations, Cap, you’re a criminal.”

“I wouldn’t have needed to intervene if you’d kept the situation under control. Doesn’t look like you have any qualms about letting other people,” Steve tossed head up at the man in the black costume, “run around unsupervised, though.”

The new guy growled, and in one swift motion ripped the mask off his face and looked Steve dead in the eye. He was young looking with a sharp gaze and broad hands that gripped the edges of his mask in set determination.

Steve actually looked a little taken aback from the unmasking, but kept his ground. Bucky neither knew nor cared who the guy was and still didn’t, though he did feel a little tug of familiarity. But none of it mattered.

Bucky found himself back on the ground, legs kicked out and forced to kneel with hands behind his back. The position was familiar, at least. He settled into a blank space, and tried not to think as Steve was whisked away in a different vehicle. Steve shot him one last, desperate look, and Bucky let himself go blissfully numb.

 

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

> April… May? Either late April or early May, 2016
> 
> I don’t even know where to start. Steve was there in Lagos. We saw each other. And then there was the thing at the UN and
> 
> I didn’t do that, did I?
> 
> This wasn’t what was suppose to happen. Not like this. Not so soon. And Steve definitely wasn’t suppose to be here when I got caught. But now he’s in trouble too. What the hell is going on?

  
✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

Bucky stared straight ahead through the glass. His reflection appeared mildly irritated, but really he was simply exhausted.

He’d been told not to struggle. Trying to yank out of the restraints would trigger an alarm, and he would be heavily sedated without hesitation. If he behaved, he would receive a high-calorie liquid meal in four hours. No, Steve would not be allowed in the same room as him. There would be no toilet breaks. If he followed the rules, he would be only _mildly_ sedated and allowed two minutes of supervised bathroom time to relieve himself before the liquid meal. If and when he proved he could be tentatively trusted, he would be moved to a high security prison until the logistics of this shit situation were sorted out. And, God willing, a psychological assessment proved him sane enough, he would be allowed a lawyer and _a video conference_ with Steve.

It wasn’t explicitly stated that he and Steve wouldn’t be able to physically interact for a very long time, if ever again, but it was there. Between the bullshit. Bucky’s brain was full of holes, but the “maybe allowed a lawyer” part seemed suspect. Although, he was probably considered a terrorist at this point. Maybe the laws were different for that. Maybe he didn’t have the right to anything at this point, and they were being generous. That almost seemed worse.

Bucky looked back at his reflection. The bags under his eyes were as dark as bruises. His hair was limp and greasy. A couple days of coarse, uneven stubble made his face look dirty more than anything. The shirt was torn and stained with blood, sweat, and oil.

He barely looked alive let alone mentally sound.

 

 ✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

> April or May, 2016
> 
> They’ve been interrogating me for a few hours now. They insisted it’s a psychological evaluation, but I’ve been on the other side of this. I’ve been in their place. They want information. They don’t care if I actually know anything. They’ll get the answers they want no matter what I do or don’t do. Besides, one of the psychs took my journals. Anything they need could probably be picked out of there.
> 
> No one here thinks I’m cognizant of the political situation, but you don’t stalk Steve Rogers for three months without learning a thing or two about the world at large. He actually thought he could show up to a Black Lives Matter rally in his go-to hat ‘n glasses disguise and blend in. If the people there hadn't have had better things to do there would’ve been like, five-hundred people swarming on him. Idiot.
> 
> Hydra is like any other terror group, albeit sometimes with fancier gadgets. Any “War on [INSERT NOUN HERE] is an impossible goal created to make it look like the government is actually fighting to stop something rather than just preventing as many negative outcomes as possible. So instead, you pick a scapegoat and declare it mission accomplished.
> 
> I’m the scapegoat. They want to kill me and call it a victory.
> 
> I wish I could argue I was innocent.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

Eyes closed and all he could see was himself, back in the chair. Zola, Karpov, Fennhoff, a dozen other nameless faces gazed down on him as a stiff band of electrodes were placed on his head.

“You deserve this. You ran away and have proven you cannot be trusted to think for yourself. We will make decisions for you from now on, and you will obey.”

Fat, wet tears streamed down his cheeks. He wanted to beg. He knew he was bad, knew he ran away and disobeyed. He could learn to be better without losing himself, please. What came out instead was a quiet “yes”.

“We weren’t asking your permission.”

Bucky opened his eyes, and was startled to find himself making direct eye contact with someone new. The man smirked and adjusted his glasses with the tip of his finger. He tiptoed around the guards. One of them nodded, and he step forward. He cleared his throat and turned on the speaker.

“Sergeant Barnes, I am Dr. Zemo.”

Bucky stayed silent. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the guy's voice. Zemo’s mouth stretched wider.

“I understand you haven't been talking to your other therapists.”

More silence.

“You will talk to me, James.”

Bucky’s attention immediately snapped up to the man. He opened his mouth wordlessly, half to tell the guy to fuck off, half to plead with the guards to escort the man out. Bucky couldn’t say either, and he couldn’t look away.

“James, do you know who I am?”

Bucky wanted to vomit. “No, sir.”

“You wouldn’t, would you? That was on purpose. But you _recognize_ me. My authority.”

Why weren’t the guards doing anything?

“Oh, Soldier. I’ve been looking for you for a long time...”

Bucky’s body seized up and fell slack all at the same time. The restraints fell away, the door swung open, and he launched himself at the nearest person he could grab. He had been given an order, and this time he would obey at all costs. He will not fail.

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

“Barnes is out of containment. All available units, mobilize _immediately_ to the main building. Repeat: Barnes is out of--”

Bucky crushed the com in the palm of his left hand and tossed the bits somewhere behind him. He pat down the unconscious body, eyes already fluttering open from the brief knockout. He picked up his foot, ready to crush the man’s windpipe.

A wet cough, flecks of blood dripping from a broken nose to the shiny waxed floor.“Please don’t…”

Bucky stopped dead, nearly falling over from the sudden shift in balance. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Every bit of programming was screaming to do something, because this was the enemy. No quarter, unless otherwise ordered. Bucky felt numb. He wanted nothing more then to find Steve and collapse against him. His foot came down anyway, splintering the bones in the man’s outstretched hand reaching for a gun just inches away.

His body was not his own, but with an exhausting amount of effort, he managed to drag himself away before the other guards stirred. Or worse, they didn’t stur at all. He picked up the gun, and took off down the hall.

 

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

>  Still April or May, 2016
> 
>  
> 
> So much has happened in the past few days, and I can’t even remember what. I know I am in the custody of the Avengers, somewhere, and I need something. Need to do something. I’ve been stalking the halls for five minutes now, and I can’t remember how I ended up here. I’m tired.
> 
>  

✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧

 

The more people he fought, the deeper in he fell. It was an awful mix of emptiness and directionless anger. So when one of the security guys caught him off guard and got in a few well placed hits, he wasn’t even surprised that the tiny party part of him that had been fighting the trigger was suddenly silent. Bucky knocked the wind out of the man and threw him onto one of the cafeteria tables and cocked the gun.

Only before he could do anything, some eardrum splitting pulse hit him, and Stark came sprinting out from behind a corner. Then a flash, and in a split second Stark was on top of him. Even after everything, the idiot seemed genuinely surprised when Bucky didn’t hesitate to shoot him point blank in the face. He blocked the shot and pulled the top half of the gun off, so Bucky smacked Stark to the ground instead. He fell like a house of cards.

Some woman he didn’t recognize was next. She pounced on him the instant Stark went down. He might have been impressed with how she came at him with no weapons or armor, but then Romanoff came out of nowhere and had her legs wrapped around his neck before he could even think. He threw her down and squeezed her neck. He probably could’ve snapped it if she weren’t just barely holding him back.

“You could... at least recognize me…” she choked out.

That little voice in the back of his head started up again, and he eased the grip so slightly it might have been unnoticeable to anyone but him. Something-- some memory hit him like a freight train. His stomach churned and vision blurred. The Red Room, ballet, training, fighting, getting shocked half to death, begging not to be frozen again....

Something hit him, and he let go, but his body kept on moving. And if didn’t remember anything that happened after that, well, it was one less nightmare to add to the collection.

_✧ﾟ･:*~------~*:･ﾟ✧_

 

> _Still_ still April or May, 2016
> 
> I don’t know how long I’ve been out, or how long I’ve been here, but the journals are gone. I doubt I’m ever getting them back. That was everything I had. I may as well have been wiped again.
> 
>  
> 
> I give up, 2016
> 
> Steve and Wilson are in the other room, as hard as they’re trying to hide it. I expect they’ll want some kind of explanation. What could I possibly say?
> 
> In the two years since D.C., I’ve never had a blackout that didn’t end with simply waking up on the floor from where I’d collapsed originally. Who would believe that I was just in that cage, and next thing I know I’m out and surrounded by bodies? My history wouldn’t exactly lend itself to the benefit of the doubt.
> 
> I don’t want to be in prison. I don’t want to die. I don’t have any excuse to stave off either.
> 
>  
> 
> Who cares, 2016
> 
> Steve asked me if I knew him. It’s the first time we’ve really been able to properly talk, and I had to be trapped in a vice to do it. But the look on his face when I told him what I remembered was just
> 
> It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.
> 
>  
> 
> I think this is what I’ve been fighting for.

**Author's Note:**

> golly, it's been over a year since my last fic. Being a college senior is fucking killer. I'm graduating this year and it better have been worth it. Been cutting into my Fallout 4 play and fic writing time.
> 
> Per the usual, let me know if you got any questions or want to yell at me or request something in the comments. Also you can come follow my [main tumblr ](http://hjbaltimore.tumblr.com) or my [sporadically tagged, spoiler filled comic book side blog.](http://thewinterboulder.tumblr.com)


End file.
